


Show Me Your Wounds And I'll Wrap Your Bandages

by wordswordswords7



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Coda, David Panics, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, David Rose Loves Patrick Brewer, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engagement, Episode: s05e13 The Hike, Happy Ending, Mentions of Johnny Rose, Missing Scene, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Patrick Comforts, health scare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29616918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswordswords7/pseuds/wordswordswords7
Summary: The Hike CodaDavid and Patrick finally see all of their missed texts and calls about Johnny's heart attack scare. Buoyed by their engagement and the promise of a lifetime of highs and lows, Patrick helps to navigate David through his rollercoaster reaction to the news.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 10
Kudos: 158





	Show Me Your Wounds And I'll Wrap Your Bandages

The hike, once salvaged by the actual proposal, has been going perfectly.

They’re about half way back down the trail, riding high on a happiness so full that Patrick thinks he might burst. Between stolen kisses and fits of giddy laughter, their phones finally catch a signal and a cacophony of _pings_ stop them in their tracks. Rolling his eyes without any real irritation, David pulls his phone from his pocket and the blinding grin he’s been wearing for the last hour slips into a confused grimace.

“Fifteen missed…? Oh my god.”

David’s eyes widen with dismay just as Patrick reads the last text from Stevie in his own cue of urgent missives.

_false alarm Mr Rose is ok leaving hospital now_

What? Patrick leans awkwardly on the walking stick he’d found on their walk back, and scrolls to the first of the texts she sent today. Reading the words _heart attack_ , he feels himself go a little light headed, the pain of his foot suddenly forgotten.

“ _Oh my fucking god!”_

He looks up and sees the colour has drained from David’s face. Patrick lets the walking stick fall and reaches out to hold onto David’s arms on the off chance his boyfriend—no, his _fiancé_ —collapses in the middle of the trail. He certainly looks like his knees are about to give out from under him.

“David,” Patrick says firmly, holding him up at arm's length and trying to catch his eye. “David, hey...you with me?”

But David ignores him to start thumbing through his phone rapidly, presumably catching up on his own frantic messages from Stevie. 

“Fuck… _fuck._ ”

He switches to his missed calls and Patrick sees that Mrs. Rose has been trying to reach him too, not to mention Roland of all people. He looks about ready to fall apart.

“Stevie says your Dad’s okay. He’s _okay_.”

But David isn’t listening. Pulling himself out of Patrick’s grasp, he turns on his heel and starts making his way down the trail at a breakneck pace, just short of actually breaking into a run. Patrick swears under his breath and stoops down to snatch up the stick, limping quickly behind him.

“Sweetheart! Sweet– _David!”_

Whether it’s Patrick’s tone or the fact that he’s not right on David’s heels that gets through to him, the other man finally stops to turn around. For a brief moment a look of confusion flickers through the panic in his eyes before being replaced by guilt when he sees Patrick struggling to catch up.

“Shit,” he bites out and closes the distance between them, wrapping one arm around Patrick’s waist for support and continuing at a slower pace. 

Patrick can practically _feel_ the will power it’s taking David to slow down his momentum for the sake of his injured foot. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry I just…”

“I know, I’m sorry too,” Patrick replies, awash with his own guilt for slowing David down. “But Stevie says it wasn’t a heart attack. Her last text to me said your Dad is okay.”

He’s trying to be reassuring but he knows immediately that his words aren’t having the effect he’d hoped for. Instead, David is blinking back tears and gripping all the more tightly to Patrick’s hip as they walk forward. 

“Except you don’t know that for sure,” David insists, voice high and tight. “Why did they think he was having one in the first place? What if the doctors are wrong and...and...well what if it happens again? He’s getting _older_ , old people have heart problems all the time! He... _god_...he could be _dying_ right now! He could be– Oh god, I'm not ready for this! Patrick, I'm not–”

David’s rant is choked off by a sob. Patrick glances over in alarm, all too aware that if he lets this spiral continue things will get so much worse. David is shaking with panic now, his breaths coming unsteadily. For all of David’s aloofness about his family—and theirs about him in return—it’s always been clear to Patrick that David’s worry for each of them is a persistent fire. One that never stops burning just below the surface of his carefully constructed artifice of annoyance and indifference. And now, with a potential crisis on their hands, that worry is threatening to burn him alive.

Patrick forces them to stop again and a flash of irritation crosses David’s face.

“Please, can we just...we need to _go_ ,” his voice is trembling and he’s clearly on the verge of tears.

“We will, I promise, but you need to take a breath. Please, just take a deep breath and I’ll call Stevie to make sure your Dad’s really okay, alright?”

David shakes his head and throws his hands up in frustration, giving in to the tears as they begin to stream down his face. “We need to _go,_ Patrick!”

“Breathe, David,” Patrick insists, pulling out his cellphone once more. “Can you do that for me, please?”

Without giving him a chance to reply, Patrick pulls up his contacts and selects Stevie’s name. He never takes his eyes off David who has begun to pace, shaking out the tension in his hands and openly crying now.

“Jesus christ, where have you been?” Stevie demands in lieu of a greeting.

“We didn’t have cell service! What’s going on?”

“Is David with you? I’ve been calling him!”

“He’s right here...one sec, I’ll put you on speaker…”

David stops his pacing to stare at the phone with wide-eyed trepidation. 

“Stevie, what happened?” Patrick asks again when it’s clear David can’t bring himself to speak.

“We thought Mr. Rose was having a heart attack,” the tone of Stevie’s voice is one he’s never heard from her before, and he never wants to hear it again. “He was helping move set pieces all morning for Mrs. Rose and...and…”

When she struggles to continue, David takes a step closer to the phone. His arms are wrapped around himself as if they’re the only thing holding him together.

“And what?” David’s words are thick from crying, and he barely gets them out around a choked sob.

“David?” Stevie’s voice is small, so fucking small, and scared. 

“And _what,_ Stevie?”

“He was having chest pains and–”

“ _Oh my god!”_

“–and we took him to the hospital. But he’s _fine,_ David. I promise! It was...fuck, it was _heart burn_.”

“ _What?!”_

David’s shout disturbs a flock of songbirds from the treetops and he reaches out to clutch Patrick’s arm, who lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

“It was a false alarm, I promise.”

Patrick looks up at David who seems to have slipped into some sort of tight-lipped catatonia, staring off glassy-eyed into the distance over Patrick’s shoulder.

“Thanks for letting us know, Stevie,” Patrick says a little distractedly. “We’re heading back now, we’ll come right to the motel.”

“I...okay.”

Patrick takes the call off speaker and holds the phone up to his ear, still watching David who hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Are _you_ okay?” he asks gently, knowing she won’t answer truthfully.

Sure enough there’s a pause before she responds with an approximation of her usual bite. “Yeah, obviously. Answer your phone next time, asshole.”

She ends the call at that. 

“David?” Patrick pockets his phone with a sigh and reaches out to palm David’s cheek. “Sweetheart, how are you feeling?”

He gets a few laconic blinks in response before David gives his head a little shake and swipes a knuckle under each eye. “Can we go now?”

David’s voice is small and pleading, and he’s looking down the trail impatiently though without the frenetic urgency he’d been buzzing with just moments ago.

“Yeah, of course. We’re going.”

They make their way down the rest of the trail in silence, the elation of just ten minutes ago dampened down to a heavy dread despite Stevie’s assurances. Patrick knows David will only recover from this once he’s seen Mr. Rose alive and well. Honestly, Patrick could use the reassurance himself. It isn’t until they finally reach the car twenty minutes later that he speaks.

“Do you want me to drive?” David’s voice sounds flat and exhausted.

Patrick’s not sure he’s really in much of a state to drive, and his face must say as much.

“It’s just...your foot. If it hurts too much, I can drive.”

Oh. Even in all the chaos, David is still thinking about Patrick and it makes him want to wrap the taller man in a tight hug and never let him go. Instead he just shakes his head.

“I’m okay. It barely hurts anymore, honestly.”

It’s a lie, his foot is throbbing and he’s looking forward to icing it when they get home. But he doesn’t think David needs one more thing to worry about right now. Ignoring the pain, he drops down into the driver’s seat and they make the short trip back into town. 

When they pull into the motel parking lot, Patrick expects David to launch himself out of the car the second it’s parked. Instead he just sits there, leg bouncing restlessly and fingers twisting the new gold bands around his fingers. The sight of his long fingers anxiously fiddling with the engagement rings makes Patrick’s stomach flutter pleasantly despite the reason for the fiddling. It’s strange to admit even to himself, but he likes the idea that David has something from _him_ that can help relieve him of some of that trademark nervous energy. 

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Patrick hedges when David still hasn’t moved.

He looks so uneasy and habit makes Patrick want to reach out and hold him, but instinct tells him that David is wound up far too tightly for that. Patrick already knows that the come down from the turbulent emotions of the day, regardless of what state Mr. Rose is in, is going to be rough.

“I’ll just be a minute,” David replies quietly after a beat of silence, ignoring the question, and practically dragging himself from Patrick’s car. 

Patrick sighs. This is _not_ how he thought the day would go.

He’s fully prepared to sit here, ruminating on the iffy hike and all the good that had followed it. In fact, Patrick is determined to hold onto the happiness that had so thoroughly filled him from the moment David’s fingers had curled around the long velvet box hidden in his backpack. He’s never felt lighter in his life. And even this, facing Mr. Rose’s health scare, no matter how awful and heart wrenching the last half hour has been, feels like there’s a softer landing waiting for them when _forever_ is being promised.

They have the rest of their lives ahead of them and Patrick is so fucking excited for all the highs that come with that, and is equally comforted knowing that they’ll have each other to survive all the lows. 

So yes, he’s prepared to sit here for a while, replaying the moment David said yes, and every moment after that. The Roses operate in a different time zone when it comes to taking _just a minute,_ even when the stakes are low. So Patrick is surprised when David only takes five before he’s slipping out of his parents’ door. 

“That was fast,” Patrick says, aiming for a lighter tone despite the morose look on his _fiancé’s_ face. 

“Mhmm, they uh...my mom popped a pill and is out like a light. And my d-dad...” he trips up on the word and clears his throat, looking steadfastly out the passenger side window. “My dad is fine. Was just sitting there, reading the paper like nothing hap-happened…”

David closes his eyes and inhales deeply.

“He’s fine. Everything is fine.”

It sounds like he’s saying it more to himself then to Patrick.

“It’s okay if you want to stay,” Patrick tells him, still wanting to reach out for his hand but still holding back. “If you want to spend some time with him, I can come get you tomorrow morning. Or I can stay here with you. Whatever you want to do, David.”

David finally opens his eyes and looks at Patrick tiredly.

“Take me home?”

So they go.

It’s another silent drive, though an even shorter one. David doesn’t speak again until they’re in the apartment and Patrick is putting the leftovers from the picnic away.

“What are you doing?” he asks sharply, seeming to wake up from the brief fugue state he's been in.

“Uh…” Patrick looks up from where he’s sliding what’s left of the champagne into the fridge, which _feels_ like a pretty self-explanatory activity. 

“Sit down, we need to make sure your foot isn’t about to fall off from gangrene or else my mother will need to pop more than just a Bosnian xanny to recover. God, can you imagine? She’d probably force you to do the show on one leg, hopped up on painkillers. She’d rewrite the whole damn show just to give the Emcee some insane backstory about how he lost his foot in a bizarre Fräulein Schneider-Nazi doublecross or something...”

David’s sudden rambling deluge throws Patrick off guard after he’s been so uncharacteristically quiet. He watches him bustle about the apartment, opening cupboards and drawers as he continues to mutter about alternate Cabaret universes. David’s practically vibrating by the time he passes Patrick for the third time, clearly in search of something. It's so much closer to his initial reaction on the trail, that Patrick almost feels like he's getting David Rose whiplash. 

“What are you looking for?” Patrick asks, hoping his gentle tone will help calm David.

David lets out an exasperated sigh and turns to Patrick, cocking an eyebrow and crossing his arms. With an unimpressed glare, he nods to one of the kitchen chairs pointedly. Patrick finally sits but reaches out a hand. Maybe if he puts the offer out there for physical contact, David will accept it.

He doesn’t. Instead he takes a step back and looks around the apartment, flustered.

“I thought you had like a million first aid kits? Unless you also got rid of them to make more room for cheese, or icepacks, or whatever in this _fucking shoe box of an apartment_.”

David’s voice hits an octave that Patrick rarely hears from him but that dogs are certainly no stranger to. The dig about not making room for the first aid kit is clearly supposed to sting but Patrick can see right through it, straight to its vulnerable center.

 _Okay,_ he thinks, _that’s enough of that._ Patrick stands up and closes the space between them, pulling David into a tight embrace. He remains tense for a moment, but eventually his shoulders slump in defeat and he buries his face into the shoulder of Patrick’s hoodie. The overwhelming energy of the afternoon seems to seep out of him and they stand like that for a while, David’s rapidly beating heart finally slowing to a less alarming pace. 

“I’m sorry,” he eventually breathes out.

Patrick barely hears the muffled apology. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. This apartment _is_ a shoebox, and we could never have enough room for all your cheese.”

The joke has the intended effect and Patrick feels David’s quiet laugh rumble against his chest rather than hears it. 

After a beat David asks, “First aid kit?”

“Under the sink in the bathroom. But honestly David, I’m fine.”

David leans back and there are unshed tears in his eyes. “Please just let me take care of you.”

Patrick wants to do the same thing for him, but maybe accepting David’s care is just another way of offering to bandage up his emotional wounds.

“Sure babe.”

Patrick releases him and sits back down at the table, propping his foot up on the other chair. After a minute, David returns with the Rubbermaid box labelled neatly in permanent marker. He crouches down and gets to work pulling off Patrick’s sock and doing some fairly thorough first aid. He works with the same meticulous care he uses when handling products at the Apothecary, and Patrick has to hold himself back from peppering David with kisses.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” he says softly as David puts the finishing touches on the bandage.

He lowers his foot to the ground but David doesn’t stand. Instead he leans both hands against Patrick’s knee and lightly kisses him there before looking up into his eyes.

“I contain multitudes, Patrick Brewer.”

He still sounds a little exhausted but at his words warmth blooms in Patrick’s chest. He picks up David’s hand and runs a thumb reverently across the gold rings there. “We have the rest of our lives for me to discover every inch of you.”

David’s eyes widen a little at that, and some of the euphoria from earlier in the day returns to his face. 

“We’re getting married,” he says, almost as if he can’t believe it. 

As if he’d almost let himself forget it in the course of all the chaos.

“We’re getting married,” Patrick reassures him, pressing a kiss into the palm of David’s hand. 

David leans his forehead against Patrick’s knee, who runs his fingers gently through his hair.

“I was so scared today.”

“I know.”

“But you...you stayed and you put up with all of... _this._ ”

“David…”

“No, I know but...you always know how to make me feel better, even when I don’t think anything can. And I just...I just…”

Patrick palms David’s cheek and forces him to look up. “I love you, you know that.”

There’s something inscrutable in David’s expression, like fascination and disbelief all at once. He slowly stands and Patrick stands with him, the change in perspective causing him to look up now. 

David gives his head a little shake and leans down to kiss Patrick’s lips softly. Reverently. 

“I know. I just can’t believe I get to keep you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Still Love by Great Caesar (which I think is actually a perfect song for this relationship).
> 
> I wrote this while avoiding the inexplicable writer's block I've got going on for another ongoing fic. So that's where I'm at this weekend. 
> 
> Anyway, reach out on tumblr @wordswordswords7 where I'm not inexplicably too wracked with anxiety to respond to things like comments. Which I fucking love hearing from each and every one of you, by the way! Please interpret my silence as the shiest form of reciprocated love.


End file.
